Jericho
by Vivian Bloodmark
Summary: SEQUEL to "With Your Shield Or On It." While Gibbs recovers from taking a bullet, Abby enourages Jackson Gibbs to help her relive her lover's past. Rated for some sexuality.
1. Subdued

**Jericho**

By Vivian Bloodmark

**Chapter One – Subdued**

Jackson Gibbs wasn't usually a fast mover. Although his step still had a little bit of a spring to it, years had taken the edge off his lunge. One thing he hadn't lost was his keen sense of direction, and it didn't take him nearly as long as he'd expected to find hospital room number 62. Without knocking, he opened the door, and presented himself stolidly before the surprised looking on-duty nurse. The only other occupant of the room was a figure in a bed, covered in tatty blankets, staring away from out the closed window.

"I'm here to see my son," Jackson told the nurse.

The man in the bed turned over slowly, propping his head up on one hand and craning his neck around to see better. "Dad?"

Jackson Gibbs swallowed hard. Hoarsely, he muttered, "Yeah. It's me. How you feeling, Leroy?"

Leroy Jethro Gibbs chuckled. "I've been better."

Gibbs certainly looked, thought Jackson, like hell. His face was drawn, pale, like he hadn't been eating or sleeping all that well. When he sat up to get a better look at his father, Gibbs revealed the scars on his chest, leftovers from the hasty work they'd had to do to repair his damaged lung. Still, Gibbs looked a lot better than Jackson had imagined, during the restless hour he'd spent on the red-eye flight to Washington. Knowing was always better than not knowing, and not knowing whether or not his son was gonna make it had taken a few extra years off of his life in just a few minutes.

"C'mere," said Gibbs. Jackson walked over and took a seat next to Gibbs' cot. "How are you, dad? How's the store?"

"Store's fine," Jackson muttered. "Hired one of the local boys to help me out, so I can get some more sleep at night. Thought I'd get a bit of a break, when all of a sudden I heard that someone had shot…had shot my son."

"Ducky called you," said Gibbs, not really accusing him, just stating a fact.

Jackson nodded. "Can't blame you for not doing it yourself, in your condition. Still…somehow I don't think that you'd have called, even if you could."

There was silence between the two men for a moment, as Jackson worked to get a better hold of himself. Gibbs looked thoughtfully at the tiled floor, before remarking quietly, "Wouldn't have wanted to worry you, dad. Nothing you could have done."

"I could have been here, Leroy!" Jackson's voice came out louder than he'd intended it. Much more quietly, he added, "and I am here, I guess. So there it is."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed, "there it is."

"No father," whispered Jackson, "is ever supposed to outlive his son. Don't you make that man out of me."

The sound of the door closing made both men look up suddenly. The nurse, apparently having had enough of their heart to heart, had quietly taken herself elsewhere. Jackson sat up straight and cleared his throat, a little embarrassed at having had another person witness a scene that he knew Gibbs was probably already judging him for. "Got in," he began, "on a plane a couple of hours ago. Didn't feel comfortable driving all the way from Stillwater alone. I hope you don't mind, I put my stuff up at your place for the moment, till I can find somewhere else to sleep."

"You can stay with me," Gibbs said. "Plenty of room, if you don't mind the sofa."

That surprised Jackson, and he gave Gibbs a long, quizzical look. It hadn't occurred to him that he might not be the only unexpected guest staying over, and apparently it hadn't occurred to Gibbs either. "Sofa's taken," he said. "The way I hear it, she's got a right to it."

Gibbs stared at him. After a moment, he asked, as though he knew the answer, "who has?"

"That girl of yours. You know, the one with the scary shoes and the cute smile," said Jackson, raising an eyebrow. "Abigail."

***

At that moment, Abby was kneeling on the floor next to Gibbs' couch, watching the enraptured Amira playing with a very ugly plush toy rabbit. Nearby, Leyla was washing some of her daughter's clothes in the kitchen sink.

"This," Abby told Amira, "was my absolute most favorite stuffy _ever_ when I was little. I guess he's not in such great condition now, and I've had to put that left button eye back on about, like, four times, but it's only because I loved him so much. Like the velveteen rabbit, who was loved so much that he became a real rabbit forever. I bet nobody's ever read you that book. Wonder if I still have it…"

While Abby wondered about her childhood book collection, the doorbell rang, and Leyla left her laundry on the counter to answer it. Immediately, Abby jumped up and got in her way.

"No way," she said, "you stay back there. I'll get it. We can't be too careful. It could be another attack."

The potential attacker turned out to be Doctor Donald Mallard, standing on the doorstep, looking exhausted, but cheerful. When Abby opened the door to him, he smiled wearily at her before stepping in and closing it behind him.

"Well, we're all set," he told Abby. "Mike Franks is safely installed in my guest room, and all that's left is to get these two lovely young women over to join him. Thank you," he said, directing this at Leyla as well as at Abby, "for watching out for each other for a couple of hours while we got things settled. I'm afraid my accommodations won't be terribly comfortable for three people, but what I have is yours to enjoy, and we should make out well enough for a few days."

Gathering Amira up in her arms, Leyla ascended into the basement to gather a couple of her last minute things. Abby was careful not to meet Ducky's eyes, and instead gazed around the room as though suddenly fascinated by the all too familiar upholstery. "He came out of surgery successfully a few hours ago," murmured Ducky, "and he's been awake and talking all morning. I'm sure he'd be more than delighted-!"

"Are you sure," asked Abby, cutting him quickly off, "that it's okay for Leyla and Amira to stay with you? What if there's more than just those four guys, or the one in Mexico comes back to finish the job? You can't let anything happen to you, Ducky, the team needs you! Gibbs needs you!"

"Gibbs," said Ducky with a sigh, "needs rest and relaxation, and to not have to worry about where to keep his family while they're holding him in the hospital. He could also use some affectionate attention, something which you normally have in remarkable abundance."

Abby wasn't sure if she wanted Ducky to ask her, or not to ask her. Part of her knew that if he directly insisted that she come to the hospital, she would say no, and that if she said no, Ducky wouldn't ask her to justify herself. He'd settle for her answer, and that wouldn't be enough. Abby wanted to have to explain herself to someone, because saying it out loud would give her the chance to get it all clear in her head. She wanted to see Gibbs very badly, and yet every time she thought about going to the hospital, it made her sick to think of what it would be like to have that first conversation with him, see that first look on his face. He wouldn't be angry enough, not angry enough to satisfy her. He'd be forgiving, and pitying, and that was something she didn't think she could stand, especially not after a temper tantrum of hers had almost lost him his life. She'd have to stay here, where she could be angry with herself, and where she wouldn't have to think too much beyond that, wouldn't have to look at the damage.

Ducky must have seen some of the resolution in her face, because he dropped the subject, turned on his heel, and wandered out again to his car. A few moments later, Leyla appeared from the basement, carrying Amira, and two small bags. Turning to Abby, she smiled a warm, beautiful, trusting smile, a smile that made Abby feel gross and fake. Then Leyla and Amira were gone, and Abby could hear Ducky's car pulling out of the driveway and down the road. She was alone with her ugly thoughts, the way she wanted it.

Over the last few hours, Abby had begun to feel more than just guilty. Now, she felt guilty and ungrateful. The initially incredible feeling that had rushed over her when Ducky had called to say that Gibbs was going to be all right had been so much more than relief. Ever since the moment Gibbs had left in the ambulance, Abby had been promising herself that if he made it through, she'd never ask for anything again, not for her whole life. Now, though, she wanted one more wish, one more opportunity to ask for the ability to become invisible to everyone, even to herself.


	2. Subcutaneous

**Chapter Two - Subcutaneous**

Abby was still sitting on the sofa, wallowing in her own visions of self pity, when the front door creaked open, and Jackson Gibbs shambled into the house. Without acknowledging her, he walked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and then asked, over his shoulder, "want anything?"

"Um. No, thanks," muttered Abby. "Did you talk to Gibbs? I mean, Jethro? I mean, Leroy?"

Jackson waited until he'd gotten his drink, and settled himself back on the sofa next to her before responding to the question. "Yeah, I saw him."

Abby expected a little bit more than that. When Jackson didn't continue, but instead but several moments staring contemplatively into his now empty glass of water ,she swallowed, and tried not to look as impatient as she felt. Jackson certainly didn't seem as agitated as he'd been before he'd left to go to the hospital, and that was a good sign. Actually, she noted, he looked relatively cheerful, relieved, like a big weight had been lifted. That was a _very_ good sign, and it probably meant that Gibbs was doing just fine. Wasn't he going to tell her not to worry, that Gibbs was getting better?

Suddenly, Abby was aware that Jackson was watching her carefully, with the same sort of curious, patient stare that she'd seen so often on his son. Jack's gaze, however, was a bit less intimidating, and she could make out something in his knowing eyes that looked a bit too much like pity. "If you want to ask," he said, "ask."

"How is he?" she asked.

Jackson smiled the smile of a man who'd just woken up from a nightmare to find everything in the same, peaceful place it had been when he'd fallen asleep. "He's good," he told her, "he's real good. They fixed him all up. Got an ugly scar on his chest, but maybe after some time getting used to it, you'll think it gives him character. One thing no Gibbs has ever lacked is real, solid character, and my Leroy's no different."

Abby breathed. She hadn't exactly been holding her breath, and yet for the first time in hours, she didn't feel as though she were suffocating.

"So, now I get to ask a question." Jackson adjusted a pillow, making himself a little more comfortable. "How come you're still here?"

Abby had been prepared for that one. "I was looking after Amira and Leyla, until Ducky could get them over to his house. Ziva and Tony are waiting there for him, but they were helping him get everything…you know, secured. Not just against outsiders, but like, child-safety secured. So while they were doing that, I was-!"

Jackson shook his head, interrupting her rambling. "I don't mean why are you still in the house, I mean how come you aren't at the hospital with Leroy?" Abby had been expecting that one, too, but she didn't have as ready an answer. It turned out that she didn't need one. A moment after asking the question, Jackson shrugged. "Never mind, you don't have to tell me. It's all over your face. Not a Jew, are you?"

"No," replied Abby, a little surprised. "Catholic."

"Sure." Jackson nodded. "I knew it had to be one of the two, with all of that guilt you're carrying around. Come on." Standing up, he started towards the door. "You're driving. I assume you've got a car parked somewhere around here."

"Where are we-?" asked Abby, but Jackson, again, didn't give her time to finish.

"Don't play stupid," he said, smiling a bit to take the bite of his words. "We're going to the hospital. I'm the concerned father and you're the squatter, so it's your responsibility to look after me and take care of my irrational whims. Right now I'm irrationally inclined to go and see my son. Get a move on, or we won't make visiting hours."

***

Unlike lots of people she knew, Abby had no problem whatsoever with hospitals. The equipment, the abundance of medical mystery and the thrill of lives in the balance was something that delighted her in her own every day work environment, and so had only a pleasurably familiar affect.

The more she saw of Jackson Gibbs, the more Abby became aware of a marked family resemblance. Not only were the Gibbs men's mannerisms and facial expressions somewhat similar, but the way that Jack took charge of a situation reminded her distinctly of her favorite boss.

Perhaps that was why, when Jackson pushed open the door to Gibb's hospital room, Abby was so surprised to see Gibbs lying face-up in the bed, looking distracted and exhausted. Jackson's vitality had so reminded her of the forceful and gung-ho man she was used to that this spent version of Gibbs was newly alarming, even though she'd known about his surgical ordeal.

"Leroy," Jackson called out, "I don't want to make a nuisance of myself, but I've brought you a visitor."

Gibbs sat up in bed, swung his legs over the side, and turned around to look at them. He was the same powerful man that Abby so admired, and, she thought, Jackson was right. The scar on Gibbs' chest only served to make him even more mysterious and heroic looking.

"Hope you don't mind," Jackson was saying. "I know how you don't like anyone to give you too much attention, but I figure, coming all the way from Pennsylvania, I got special rights."

Gibbs had eyes only for Abby. Slowly, very slightly, he gave her one of his off-guard, genuine little smiles. "Nah, dad," he said quietly, "I don't mind."

It was like something had snapped, some barrier had broken, or the walls had suddenly fallen down. Abby ran forward and threw her arms around Gibbs neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she whispered, "you're all right, you really are all right…I was so worried, I couldn't sleep…Amira was crying for hours, like she just knew, and I thought maybe that was a sign, and I was going to find out something horrible had happened to you…but you're okay." Pulling back, she asked quickly, "you are okay, aren't you? How do you feel? Does it hurt a lot?"

Gibbs grunted, torn between a smile and a painful grimace. "I'm all right, Abs," he insisted, patting her gently on the back. "But yeah…it hurts when you put pressure on the wound like that."

"Oh!" Abby jumped back immediately, almost knocking over a small bottle of pain medication that lay behind her on the bedside table. "I'm sorry!" Once she got her feet back properly on the ground, she took a moment to make use of her new vantage point, giving Gibbs a quick, impressed once-over with her eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Just," she said with a grin, "when I thought you couldn't look any more manly. You know, I really like scars. I think they're fascinating. You can really tell a lot about a person by asking about their scars. Can tell all sorts of stories."

Gibbs, still smiling, nodded as he considered that remark. "This one does tell one hell of a story," he said. Behind them, Jackson chuckled.


	3. Substantiated

**Author's Note: **I apologize for the several day hiatus! I had the stomach flu, and can't reach my keyboard from my bed, so I had to wait. Hopefully now things will start picking up again, and we can have much more frequent updates. The plot will pick up again now, too. Thanks for bearing with me!

Vivian

**Chapter Three – Substantiation**

"Where's Mike?" asked Gibbs, after he'd successfully convinced Abby that he couldn't let her sit on his lap in his condition. Instead, she was perched on the edge of her seat, next to Jackson, who'd managed to charm a nurse into finding him another chair.

"He's at Ducky's," said Abby, "with Leyla and Amira. Tony and Ziva are there watching them, to make sure that nobody comes over from Mexico to finish the job they botched up last night. Not," she added quickly, "that your injuries aren't…totally legitimate battle scars, wounds sustained in the line of duty, but I mean…you're still alive, which I'm so, so happy about, but it probably wasn't supposed to work out that way. I mean, for the…bad guys."

Gibbs shook his head. "Wasn't me they wanted," he muttered. "They came for Leyla and Amira. I was just in the way. Mike probably would have taken a bullet too-!"

"If you hadn't been there to protect him," insisted Abby. "You're a hero, Gibbs. You're my hero."

"Right place at the right time," muttered Gibbs. He didn't feel particularly heroic. Standing in between Franks' family and some hate-crazed shooters had, it's true, prevented them from being the first targets, but it had also put him very thoroughly out of commission for what might be several long, useless days. Rather than standing alongside his former partner to help look after his girls, he would have to settle for letting other people do the difficult work while he lay, safe and sound, on a mechanical cot. He could even stomach the hospital food. The only thing he couldn't stomach was the idea of being out of the line of fire while his colleagues were still in it.

Remember, said something in the back of Gibbs' mind, you did keep Abby from being shot. Even as he thought about it Gibbs knew that Abby had never been the target. They'd been waiting out there to pick off the big guns, and he, Mike Franks, Tony and Ziva had been the big guns. Abby hadn't really been in danger at all…she'd only created a lucky break for the shooters by drawing Gibbs out into the open.

He wasn't angry at her. The time for anger, or frustration, or reprimands was very much past. She had been so delighted to see him, so much so that she'd apparently let herself forget about the elephant in the room. The fact that all Gibbs' fears and admonitions about their relationship had come true, and that she really had placed him in a vulnerable position, was only half of the problem. The next time something like this happened, it could just as easily be Abby who took the bullet. She may not have been the target this time, but he now knew just how capable she was of muddling his mind up and distracting him from the crucial rules of safety in the moment. In a different situation, he might lose his head in an even worse way, and he might be unable to stop a bullet that really was intended for her heart.

"Gibbs?" Abby sounded worried. Gibbs pulled himself out of his darker thoughts long enough to smile at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "What's wrong? Does something hurt? Should I call the nurse?"

He shook his head. "No. Doesn't hurt. Nurse'd probably just tell me to go back to sleep."

Abby didn't look convinced. To mollify her, Gibbs said, "I need you to go back to Ducky's, Abs. Find Tony and Ziva, tell them I need regular updates."

"I could just call him," Abby said, fishing her cell phone out of her pocket. "I bet he and Ziva'd love to hear your voice."

"They won't let you use that in here," Jackson reminded her. "You wouldn't want to get in trouble with the nurses. They'll revoke our visiting privileges."

"Go, Abs." Gibbs was firm. "I need your help on this one."

Abby's face lit up a little, like Gibbs had hoped it would, when she heard that he needed her to work with him on this case. Straightening up, she hopped off of her chair, set her shoulders, and offered him an enthusiastic but poorly executed salute. "Yes, sir! Updates coming right up. I'll be your personal go between." Dropping her arm, she hurried over to Gibbs' bedside, reached up, and kissed him quickly on his closed lips. "I'm really," she told him, more seriously, "really glad that you're okay."

When Abby had marched out of the room, full of her new professional duty, Gibbs found his father looking at him curiously, like he was waiting for something. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Jackson sighed ,shaking his head and giving Gibbs a very stern, unexpectedly paternal look.

"Don't you start that brooding, Leroy," he said. "What's done is already done. No point in losing sleep over it. Besides," he added, turning towards the door, "you're gonna need all your sleep if you're gonna get better in time to help put this hate-mail mastermind away."

"You think there's still one of them out there, huh?" asked Gibbs.

Jackson narrowed his eyes at him. "Yeah," he said simply. "Don't you? You just better hope that I don't get to him before you get out of that bed. Won't be anybody left for you to investigate if I do."

Gibbs couldn't help smiling as his fiercely protective father, apparently unaware of his own advanced and hardly threatening age, wandered out of the room to join Abby. Not for the first time, he wondered if he would know himself better if he'd only gotten to know his father a little sooner.

***

Ducky had always thought that he had plenty of space in his undeniably spacious house. He hadn't, however, had quite so many overnight guests in a very long time, and it was putting a bit of a strain on his repository of patience.

Amira was an incredibly well behaved child. She sat, very passively and demurely between Ziva and Leyla, playing with Leyla's hair as the two women chatted about anything and everything, trying to keep their minds off the danger of their situation and the recent shooting incident. Tony DiNozzo was a much less well behaved child, and he had already managed to sit on and permanently destroy one of Ducky's favorite records, the one that Ducky had only recently taken out of the player after promising to lend it to Palmer to help further his musical education. Tony had also managed to almost trip Ziva down the stairs while she was carrying a large pile of bedding intended for Leyla, causing her to drop a set of recently cleaned sheets and blankets all over the trampled on floor.

Tony was restless, wandering around, asking idiotic questions and looking at the clock every thirty seconds. His discomfort was making him particularly clumsy and obnoxious, and although Ducky had a great deal of affection for Tony, that affection only went so far. He, too, was worried about Gibbs, and Tony's unhappy wanderings were only making him more aware of the futility of trying not to think about it.

That as probably why, when Ducky answered a ring of the doorbell, that his greeting came out a little bit more testily than he had intended. "Well?" he asked, when he saw Abby standing eagerly on his doorstep.

She blinked at him, temporarily deflated by the harshness of his tone. "Um, hi, Ducky. Everything…okay?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine." Ducky sighed, opening the door wider to let her through. "We've just been having a bit of a stressful morning, that's all. No doubt you've had one as well. What can I do for you? Have you seen-?"

"Yes." Abby beamed at him. "I have, and his dad's here, and we went to the hospital, and Gibbs is fine. Well, I mean, no, he's not fine, he's been shot through the chest, but the surgery went really well, and he's going to completely recover, and he's already able to sit up and be his normal impatient self. That's why I'm here." Glancing around the room, she asked, "Where's Tony? I need to talk to him."


	4. Subjective

**Chapter Four – Subjective**

"Hey, Abby." Tony came rushing down the stairs to meet her. "How's the boss?"

"He's fine," said Abby. "Still our same old indestructible Gibbs, and he's got this really intriguing, sexy scar on his chest now, kinda looks like a crescent moon, in a lopsided-!"

"Yeah, don't need to or want to know about your fetishes. Don't ask, don't tell." Tony waved that quickly away with one hand. "Did he, uh…did he say anything about me? Me and Ziva, I mean? Marching orders?"  
"Um, yeah," Abby nodded, "yeah, he says he needs you to stay in touch, like, all the time. I mean, not all the time, but you need to be keeping him posted if anything exciting happens. I wouldn't call if nothing's happening, cause he can get pretty testy if you get his attention and then don't give him anything in return."

As Abby fished around in her jacket pocket for the piece of paper on which she'd written the hospital switchboard number, Tony grimaced. "I know," he said. "Thanks for the relay. If you see him again, tell him that I say get well soon." After a moment's pause, he turned a sly, knowing look on her. "You are gonna see him again soon, right?"

Abby had seen this coming, and had spent some time trying to decide how to deal with it. Tony would probably already have had a few laughs at the expensive of her newly awkward relationship status, and she was well prepared to take whatever he could dish out. At least, she thought she was.

"After all," Tony continued, "From where I'm standing, or at least, where Ziva and I stood last night, it looks like you're getting ready to become the fifth Mrs. Gibbs."

She hadn't been ready for that. The operative word, the one that got to Abby the most was "fifth." Recent, slightly more urgent events had totally taken her mind of the unpleasant progression of ideas she'd been having about Gibbs' romantic history. She knew of course, that Gibbs had lost one wife, and divorced another three in rapid succession. Still, four was an impressive tally, when it came to people he'd said he'd spend the rest of his life with. Thinking back on the things Mike Franks had told her that night in Gibbs' basement, Abby wondered if he really was still carrying all of them with him, and if he really did intend to keep the "till death do us part" promise. After all, Shannon had already died, and yet Gibbs was no doubt going to keep a tight hold on her memory until his own dying day. How did it stand with the rest of his short-lived and alarmingly serious romances, or had they all discovered that he'd already picked a permanent life partner, and that Shannon's not being around didn't prevent Gibbs from rejecting each of his new ives in turn as the love of his life?

"Too soon?" asked Tony, noting Abby's suddenly awkward, introspective silence. "I'm just kidding. Maybe that's not…really how it is. The boss didn't just, uh…" He fumbled with his words, trying to figure out the best, most un-DiNozzo, tactful way to put it. "Was it just a spur of the moment thing? You know, one night only?"

N-no. No, that's...not quite it." Abby said not quite it, because, in point of fact, there really had only been one night so far. She expected there to be several others, but when she was honest with herself she had to recognize that the relationship she'd fantasized about for so long in her own mind was really still in the stages of budding, experimental romance. It definitely wasn't the time to be thinking about marriage…which would be a lot easier, of course, if Gibbs hadn't already had quite so many.

"Right. Cool. I think." Tony seemed to be getting more and more out of his depth. "Ziva'll be glad to hear it. She was kinda worried about you, you know, when all the yelling and angry Gibbs happened, and then it was followed by sex. I mean, I assume it was followed by…not that I was like, watching, or anything. That'd be intensely creepy, I would never…I'm gonna quit before I'm behind, and go. Okay?"

He did go, which was, in one sense, a relief to Abby, who obviously still did not know how to talk about Gibbs in front of her co-workers. On the other hand, Tony being there, expressing his total confusion as to how to address the situation, had been a bit comforting. At least she wasn't the only one who still didn't know just exactly what was going on between herself and her boss/lover. The first thing she'd have to do, Abby reflected, was to pick a single word, preferably not boss or lover, which accurately identified their relationship.

***

When Abby got back to Gibbs' house, Jackson was sitting on the couch, wearing his reading glasses, leafing through a book. He smelled, though Abby, like wood shavings.

"Been down in the basement?" she asked.

Jackson looked up at her. "Thought I'd clean it up a bit while Leroy was getting better," he confirmed. "Took a quick look around at the mess and all the half-finished craft projects, and gave it up. Wouldn't know where to put things so he could find 'em again, anyway. I can barely find anything around here myself."

"Good call," said Abby, nodding encouragingly. "He wouldn't like it if he came back and his stuff was missing. You should have seen how mad he got at Tony when he 'retired,'" she put some significantly sarcastic emphasis on the word, "and then came back to find out that McGee and Tony had gone ahead and rearranged all of his crime scene goodies. Words of wisdom; let it be."

"Aren't you gonna go home and get a shower, or something?" Jackson asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "You've paid your dues, time to take a break."

"Oh, sure, yeah, I am." Abby had hoped for an easier opening. She liked Jackson, even more so now that he'd gotten her off of her self-centered butt and insisted that she go with him to see Gibbs. She didn't want to offend him, and definitely didn't want to scare him off, since she was still hoping that his arrival would be another step towards the father-son reconciliation that she'd been hoping against hope for ever since the previous Christmas. Still, if she didn't ask the question that was eating away at the back of her mind, it'd get blurted out at some really awkward, inappropriate time, probably in front of Gibbs himself. That'd be pretty awful. "I…I wanted your help with something."

"Shoot," said Jackson, leaning forward to get a better look at her. "What's bugging you?"

"I want…" She stopped, swallowed, re-considered, and started again. "I need to find out more about Gibbs. You know, the things he likes, the people he likes…"

"The women he likes?" Jackson Gibbs nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'm not surprised, really. Ever since I found out that you and he were…intimate-!"

"Can we use 'involved?' I like the word 'involved.'" Abby felt the heat rising in her face, and tried not to think too hard about Gibbs' newly attractive scar, or the unexpectedly gentle way his hands could move when they wanted to. "It's a nice, ambiguous word, doesn't make assumptions."

"I'm not making assumptions, I know," insisted Jackson. "You should have seen the two of you in the hospital together. You couldn't take your eyes off of him, and he wasn't seeing anything but you, either. You've obviously made quite an impression on my boy, and that takes some doing."

"And…that impression," asked Abby, forcing the words out as quickly as she could, before she could swallow them again. "that only having eyes for me thing. How long does that last?"

Jackson didn't respond to that in words. Looking across at him, hoping for some sort of encouraging sign, Abby saw him bite his lip, and shake his head. He looked away from her for a second, letting out a little frustrated sigh, and the weight started to pile up on Abby's shoulders again.

"Yeah," she whispered. "That's what I was afraid of."

"I don't even really know him anymore," Jackson began, with a shrug. "I wouldn't be the one you'd want to ask. I wasn't there when most of the…when he got involved with those other women, and he's been keeping me carefully out of it. Everything I know, I know recently, from conversations and second hand information. I can't help you, Abby, he's almost a stranger to me, you could write a textbook with the stuff I don't know."

Abby frowned. "I'm starting to feel like that too," she said.


	5. Subversive

**Chapter Five – Subversive**

Monday morning at NCIS was, to say the very least, tense. Abby had gotten totally insufficient sleep the night before, and, still a bit bleary, she failed to notice at first the fascinated stares she was getting from co-workers on all sides. When she did look up to greet Ziva, who was just coming back from the elevators, the look on Ziva's face finally gave the game away, and, turning around, Abby watched as several pairs of eyes went hastily back to their keyboards, desktops, and reams of paperwork.  
"Um," she said. "So I guess-!"

"I'm sorry, Abby." Ziva shrugged apologetically. "Tony was here early this morning."

Abby sighed and bit her lip. "Right." Marching over to Tony's desk, she put both hands down on it and loomed over him with all the menace of doom that her five feet, ten inches, and impressively heeled boots could give her. "Having fun talking about people behind their backs again, DiNozzo?"

Tony didn't even try to be overly sorry. "Look, Abby," he insisted, "it was going to come out eventually anyway. Just be glad that the report on your weekend escapades came from the lips of a caring friend."

This would normally have probably been almost funny. Abby liked Tony, and she definitely liked his sense of humor enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, when it was in any way possible. At the moment, she wasn't finding it so easy to do, and her narrowed eyes and unimpressed expression gave Tony all the impression he needed that he'd gone way over the line.

"Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut," Tony began, but it was too late.

"Escapades? That's what you call what happened this weekend? Escapades, like, we had some kind of exciting adventure?" Abby's voice rose as she let her anger build. Despite the incredible release that it had been to see, hold, talk to Gibbs the previous day, apparently she wasn't yet quite out of emotional strain, and at this very moment she was totally comfortable letting all of it out on Tony. "He could have _died_, Tony. He could have been _killed_, or…or horribly brain damaged, or something, and all you can think about is how we had such a great, sexy time this weekend? Do you have any idea what I must look like to everybody right now? The girl who compromised Agent Gibbs by getting into bed with him the night that he almost got murdered? You think people are smiling about that, Tony? Cause I'm not, I am definitely smiling."

"You," agreed Tony, suitably terrified, "are not smiling, no you're not."

"Abby?" Ziva cut through the tirade. "Abby, Ducky's been asking for you. He said to tell you-!"

"Don't interrupt," snapped Abby.

Tense silence hung between the three of them for a few seconds, during which Tony continued to look terrified, Abby tried to let herself cool off, and Ziva seemed as though she couldn't decide whether or not to be amused or offended. Finally, Abby shook her head. "Okay. Sorry, Ziva, that wasn't very nice of me. I'll go find Ducky."

***

"Ah, so there you are," said Ducky, as Abby walked through the doors to the autopsy lab. "Mr. Palmer and I were just discussing the-!"

"Yeah, I know," muttered Abby testily. "I can guess what you and Jimmy were 'discussing.'"

Clearing his throat pointedly, Ducky continued from where he'd been interrupted. "As I was saying, Abby, Mr. Palmer and I were just discussing whether or not he could spare me long enough for me to pay a brief visit to Special Agent Gibbs in the hospital this afternoon."

"I'd be happy to cover for you, Doctor Mallard," insisted Palmer.

"Yeah, um, yeah that'd be nice." Abby swallowed, feeling a little stupid. "He'd like that, I bet. Ducky, I'm sorry I kinda jumped down your throat like that, I shouldn't have…assumed you'd be acting like a little kid."

Ducky was smiling benignly at her. "No apologies necessary, Abigail," he assured her. "After the strain of the past weekend, no doubt a little venting would be a good step for you."

Abby laughed, a little darkly. "I don't need you to psychoanalyze me," she said.

"Why is it," asked the doctor, "that every time I make a friendly gesture towards someone, I'm accused of attempting to get inside of their heads?"

Palmer, over at the far end of the room cleaning off a set of very sharp looking tools, chuckled. "Hazards of the job," he said. "People have trouble seeing doctors out of the office."

Abby and Ducky both stared at him, surprised. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to Abby before that Palmer had any of that kind of insight into human nature.

"Yeah," she said, "that's…probably it. You tend to have issues like that? I mean, you know, in your social life?"

"Nah." Palmer shook his head. "Doctor Mallard's the psychologist, not me."

"Huh." Abby turned her attention back to Ducky. "Ziva said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes." Ducky's smile faded a little, and he spent a moment regarding Abby with an unreadably thoughtful expression on his face. "I got a call last night," he said slowly, "from Mr. Gibbs, Sr. Seems he couldn't sleep because of some questions he had on his mind, some he was sure that I would able to answer for him." He paused, as if allowing comment, but when Abby did not offer any, he continued. "They were all questions about Jethro's past, the part of his more recent past that his father seems to have entirely missed out on. Particularly," he said significantly, "his romantic past. Now, I ask myself, why would Jackson Gibbs suddenly become so intensely interested in these long-concluded amours?"  
Abby, of course, knew why. When she'd grilled him about Gibbs' former wives, it hadn't occurred to her that Jackson may not have considered them before, may not even have been completely aware of how many wives there had been, or when the marriages had taken place. Apparently, after she'd left, Gibbs' father had begun to wonder whether it wasn't important for him to be aware of the deepest and most intimate parts of his son's personal life, and had called the only man who was likely to have that information.

"You're beginning something," murmured Ducky, giving Abby a stern, almost severe look, "something that you will find you have no power to stop again if things do not go according to plan. Whatever your own questions or personal inclinations may be when it comes to Jethro, you'd do best to leave his father out of it. There is a great deal of mending to be done there, and Jethro himself will do it in his own time. If you rush things, or bring issues between him and his father to a head before the right moment, you may find that the father/son bond you're so avidly hoping for will never be given a chance to form at all."

"What did you tell him?" Abby asked, feeling small and sufficiently scolded under the unyielding eye of a man who had almost always treated her with the most light-hearted, friendly affection.

Ducky shook his head. "I told him nothing, Abby, and, before you ask, no, I won't tell you anything either. It's hardly my business to go behind any man's back and gossip about his romantic history without his knowledge, even less so when it comes to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Whether or not he's aware of the fact, I value his friendship very highly, certainly enough to respect his privacy."

Frustrated and more than a little embarrassed, Abby started to leave the lab, heading out towards the elevator where she intended to spend some time thinking over the significance of Jackson Gibbs' sudden interest in his son's previous passions. Just as the doors were closing behind her, she overheard Palmer say to Ducky, in what he must have thought was a low and inconspicuous voice, "So, is it true what they're saying upstairs? Did Abby and Special Agent Gibbs really…you know?"

So much, thought Abby with a grimace, for sensitive, perceptive Jimmy Palmer.

***

Several hours later, while she was running a diagnostic on on some of her equipment, Abby became aware that there was someone standing behind her. It wasn't the brooding, expectant, silent presence of Gibbs, but was more of a foot-shuffling, loud-breathing presence, the kind that belonged to the only other man who visited her in the lab on a regular basis. Swallowing hard, Abby wished uselessly that she'd spent a little less time worrying about the past, and a little more time planning for what she'd say and do when this moment finally had to happen. Taking a deep breath, she turned slowly around to face Timothy McGee.

"Hi, McGee," she said, sounding just as awkward and guilty as she was sure she looked. "I thought you were at Duckys, looking after Leyla."

"Tony relieved me an hour ago." McGee, too, sounded as though he was being extra careful to keep his tone of voice as normal and civil as possible. "He said you were looking for me."

"Oh!" Abby smiled hesitantly. "Tony…must be confused. I haven't been…I'm not exactly ready for…I mean, I'm not looking for you."

"Yeah?" McGee raised an eyebrow at her. "Why not?"


	6. Suborned

**Chapter Six – Suborned**

"I've…been really busy," muttered Abby lamely, in response to McGee's question.

"Yeah," he said, "I heard all about that from Tony."

"So, then, you know everything already." Abby didn't like how at fault she felt. What was there to feel so guilty about? After all, it's not like she had cheated on him, or tricked him, or broken his heart. Okay, thought Abby, made she had broken his heart, but they hadn't even gone out on a date, not recently, anyway, and it's not like McGee hadn't known, from the moment she walked out of the office and into her car to head to Ducky's that something was going on, and that it was something that he wouldn't be a part of. He'd even said as much, and made it very clear to her that he was catching on to the fact that she was into somebody else. If all that was true, then how come McGee managed to make her feel so uncomfortable, standing there staring at her with that accusatory look on his face?

"How come I had to hear it from Tony?" he asked.

Abby shrugged. "Cause Tony was here early this morning." McGee continued to watch her expectantly, apparently waiting for some brilliant rebuttal or satisfying apology that she just didn't seem to have in her. After a moment, she sighed and said, "Look, McGee…I care about you. I mean, I care about you a lot, and tons of stuff has happened that I am just dying to tell you about, that I need to be able to have your solid good-guy advice about…but I'm not gonna be the bitchy ex-girlfriend and say something like 'aw, jeez, McGee, you'll always be my best friend' because you will always be my best friend, but I know how much that hurts to hear and how stupid it is for anyone to say that. So what am I supposed to say, huh? I got tied up, I was over my head, things got out of hand and there were all these crazy emotions everywhere…and then Gibbs got shot, and now we're back at work and I can't pretend that it feels like the right time to have this conversation about what happened days ago. Feels like weeks ago, anyway. But I'm sorry."

McGee's eyes widened slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something. Thinking better of it, he closed it again, reconsidered, and then muttered, "That was…a pretty good speech. Have you been sitting around, trying to figure out what to say to me?"

"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?" asked Abby.

Smiling a bit awkwardly, McGee replied, "Yes. I mean, uh, no. Actually, I'm not sure. Doesn't matter."

Abby looked hopefully at him. "So we're good now?"

"Not exactly," McGee admitted, adding with a small smile, "but it's a start."

They sat for a couple of minutes, trying to avoid looking at each other. Abby considered whether or not she hadn't actually stepped over the boundaries of their friendship when she'd used McGee's own advice against him to convince her to go after the man who was his boss and had essentially been his rival. She couldn't have said what McGee was thinking about, but whatever it was, at least he didn't look as self-righteous as he had when he'd come into the lab.

"That's not really why I came down here," he said finally. "To talk to you about that, I mean." McGee frowned. "Abby, I just got a hit on the bolo we put out on Friday, on the guy who's sending the hate mail to Gibbs' goddaughter. He's not in Mexico anymore."

"Where is he?" asked Abby, already knowing the answer and not really wanting to hear it.

"Just got on a USAir flight to Dulles," said McGee. "He's gonna land in DC in an hour."

***

"Leroy," asked Jackson Gibbs, sitting on a chair by the cot in Gibbs' hospital room, "how many times have you been married?"

Gibbs raised his head slightly to look over at his father. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't know," justified Jackson, with the air of being infinitely reasonable. "I know it's been more than once."

Gibbs sighed. "Married four times," he intoned quietly, "divorced three. Did Abby put you up to this?"

Ignoring the question, Jackson spent a few moments considering the tally of Gibbs' former wives. "That," he said, "is a lot of times. I was thinking two, maybe with some good-intentioned flings in between, but…four? I'm surprised at you."

Rolling his eyes, Gibbs let his head back down on to the flat, floppy thing the nurse called a pillow. He didn't have the patience to deal with his father's judgment at the moment, and he didn't have any interest in discussing the matter of his multiple failed marriages. If anybody knew about failed marriages, after all, he thought, it would be Jackson Gibbs.

"And you," muttered Jackson under his breath, "give me a hard time for having trouble with your mother. I always thought that was why we didn't talk for so many years, but I guess you know all about the sour side of romance."

Something inside Gibbs suddenly ran cold. "What did you say, dad?" he asked, his voice coming out far more harshly than he had intended it to.

Jackson shrugged. "I'm only telling you that-!"

"It's different," interrupted Gibbs. "It's different. When things went wrong between Diane and I, and Stephanie and I, there weren't any children. Nobody had to watch their father flirting with another, younger woman, like they'd been some kind of trial run."

"You know you weren't a trial run," said Jackson calmly. "You're a grown man, now, Leroy. I shouldn't have to tell you what it's like to try to sort out your happiness and to separate it cleanly from someone else's."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Gibbs began.

"Why?" Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Cause you weren't ever happy?"

Gibbs blood began to boil, and all the reasons why he'd rejected seeing his father for so many years started to reveal themselves again to him clearly. Maybe, he thought, there really was no reason for Jack to be here, and there really was no point in trying to re-create a bond that had been broken for so long that he didn't remember what it had been like before.

He couldn't explain to his father what it was like to lose a wife that he deeply, dearly loved, or a little child that had meant more than just the world to him. That was something that he and Jackson Gibbs would never share, something which, no matter how hard they tried and talked, Jackson would never be able to comprehend. Something selfish in Gibbs resented the fact that he had suffered more pain than his father ever had, despite the difference in years and the life experiences that should have come first to the father before the son. No, he realized, there would always be things about which they simply couldn't, or shouldn't talk, and those tended to be the things that were the most important to share with the supposed ones he loved.

"It's different," he repeated coldly, closing his eyes.

"Leroy-!" began his father.

When Gibbs didn't respond, there was a hostile silence between them for a long time. He didn't hear Jackson stand up to leave the room, but when Gibbs opened his eyes again, his father was gone.

As he lay there, there was a knock at the door, and then the businesslike nurse shuffled into the room. "Mr. Gibbs?" she said. "If you're up to it, there's a call for you from…Abby Skee-oou-too?" The nurse was careful to pronounce every syllable of the name, and still succeeded in getting it wrong. "Apparently it's very important."

"Thank you," muttered Gibbs, preparing to sit up. "I'll take it."


	7. Subordinate

**Author's Note: **I have to apologize again for the hiatus. My long distance boyfriend, who I never get to see, came to visit for Valentine's Day weekend. Back on track now.

**Chapter Seven – Subordinate**

Tony and Ziva stood outside room 458 at a DC Marriot Residence Inn, listening through the closed door. They had tailed Thomas Paul, writer of Amira's threatening letters, from Dulles airport all the way here, and had watched as he got the key to this room from the concierge in the lobby. After he'd gotten into the elevator, they'd waited for the next and gone up to the fourth floor to meet him. The door to the hotel room was already closed, and inside, they could hear a radio playing.

With the synchronization of several years of partnership, Tony and Ziva burst in upon the room together, throwing the door open and thrusting themselves through it with weapons drawn. "Federal agents!" shouted Tony, prematurely and unnecessarily. The room appeared to be empty.

While Tony carefully crept around the corner to peer into the tiny bathroom, Ziva examined the furniture, the closed windows, and the floorboards. As far as she could tell, no one had been in to this room for several days, as there were no signs of life, or even of the work of the hotel maintenance staff.

"Our bird's flown," muttered Tony, returning to her side and flopping down on the couch. "Must have seen us in the lobby and taken the elevator up to a different floor."

Ziva shook her head. A stirring of her innards that Gibbs would have called a gut feeling was pressuring her to reconsider. Something wasn't right about this room. For one thing, it didn't look like a proper hotel room. There was no welcome basket of crackers and whatnot, no card on the table indicating how to access the wireless internet. Through the now open bathroom door, she could see that there was no shampoo on the edge of the tub. This room wasn't designed to be rented, and didn't have to be cleaned because of it's regular lack of occupants.

"Ziva," Tony was insisting. "Hey, earth to David. He's not here. We gotta go. Maybe he went all the way up and found the fire escape. If we're really fast, we might be able to pick up his trail."

Shaking her head, Ziva murmured, "We should stay."

Tony stared at her. "You want to be the one to tell Gibbs that we lost his goddaughter's stalker because we need a break from the footwork?"

Ziva's feet, she reflected, were not actually tired. Come to think of it, the phrase "footwork" did not seem to properly apply to a job such as hers, where most of the traveling was done in a motorized vehicle. Dropping this line of irrelevant thought, she glanced around the room, trying to get some sense of what it was this room was regularly used for. Tony, watching her rapt and intent expression, relaxed slightly, and threw his arms up to rest his head upon.  
"Okay," he said. "Okay, so we wait. But this had better be a real good hunch. I'm just saying."

Ziva did not answer. She agreed, taking a long shot with this case was nothing short of a very bad idea…but she had to know. She hoped fervently that she knew a gut feeling when she felt one. After all, it might end up being nothing short of bad repercussions from her lunchtime hamburger.

***

The door to Gibbs' hospital room was still slightly open when Abby arrived. Walking in and reaching to close it behind her, she found him sitting bolt upright on the cot, his brows furrowed, his fingers white as he clenched his hands together and stared balefully at the wall across from him. Of course, she didn't have to wonder why his mood was so foul. Abby had been there when McGee had made the call to Gibbs to inform him that Thomas Paul had just arrived in DC. She'd been almost ready to believe that they weren't going to have any more trouble from the anti-Iraqi terrorist group that had successfully hunted them down and paid the price for it only a few days before, and thought that maybe Gibbs had begun to relax too. Then again, the idea of Gibbs being relaxed was such a new one to Abby that she had only entertained the concept very briefly. To be honest, she wasn't sure he really could. One day, she decided, she'd recommend a really good masseuse. That is, she would after she found a really good masseuse. A massage sounded like such a great idea right about now…

"Hi, Gibbs," murmured Abby, approaching her furious-faced boss/lover with appropriate caution. "Has, um…has Ducky been in to see you? He said he would, after he handed some stuff over to Palmer."

Gibbs didn't reply. Abby, swallowing a sigh, tried again.

"I bet Tony and Ziva are there right now at that hotel, apprehending our perpetrator. I brought my cell phone and I left it on…I feel kinda like a rebel having my phone on in the hospital, it's sexy. Exhilarating. You probably don't care about that. I mean, I brought my cell phone so that Tony could call us when he's got the guy."

"It should be me," muttered Gibbs. Abby spent a couple of seconds processing the significance of that, before it struck home. Gibbs was resentful of being stuck in the hospital. That was such a reasonable and human sentiment that it almost didn't seem to fit him.

"Tony's a really good agent," Abby soothed him. "If anybody can take down a criminal, Tony's our guy. Not that you're not our guy, our wouldn't be our guy, but you can't be, because you're recovering, and-!"

"Yeah," rasped Gibbs angrily, "yeah, I know, Abs."

It suddenly occurred to Abby that Gibbs would not be recovering if it weren't for her. Gibbs would not have had to be in the hospital at all, perhaps, if it hadn't been for her ill-fated attempt at a lover's quarrel. It wasn't that she hadn't considered that before, just that she'd been so overwhelmed with how well he was doing and how quickly he was improving that everything else had seemed really of little importance in comparison. If Tony got hurt now, or Ziva, because Gibbs was laid up and unable to be the perfect team captain that they needed so badly, it would be her fault too.

Gibbs must have seen the sudden unfortunate realization in Abby's face, because he made a valiant attempt at softening his own expression. A little more gently, he mumbled, "Dad was here."

Abby brightened up a bit. "Yeah? I'm so glad he came. I was afraid that he might not be able to come, when Ducky called him…but I guess dads sort of have this 'fix everything' mentality. I mean, it's kind of important to have, when you become a dad, to know that you're gonna…" she trailed off, remembering that the subject of fatherhood and fatherly responsibilities might not be an excellent one to use to cheer Gibbs up.

He, however, didn't really seem to be listening. Nodding absently at her, he was staring past her, still at the space on the wall that had apparently already received a great deal of scrutiny from him. "He shouldn't have come," said Gibbs.

Abby wanted to hug him, and so she did, but much more gently and contentiously this time, avoiding the damaged patch of his chest. He let her embrace him, even went so far as to put his arms around her and his hands against her back, but there was no comforting pressure, no relieved relaxation of his body against hers. Gibbs was far too agitated to be so easily diverted, too distracted by something unvocalized to be able to appreciate the solace Abby was trying to bring him. As she lay there, with her head resting lightly against his chest, Abby tried not to worry about Jackson Gibbs, or about Ducky's admonishing words to her about not damaging the slowly recuperating familial bond between Gibbs and his father. Gibbs had said that his dad 'shouldn't have come.' What was that for? Was it worry that Jack would be caught in the crossfire?

Abby wanted to believe that was what was troubling Gibbs, but she hadn't spent years as a brilliant detective only to be able to so easily delude herself. All the evidence, the body language, the tone of voice, and the well-known expression in the back of Gibbs' eyes gave Abby plenty of reason to believe that he was suffering from his least favorite type of problem; the personal kind.


	8. Substitute

**Chapter Eight – Substitute**

Twenty minutes after they'd sat down to wait, Ziva began to feel uneasy. Thirty minutes in, she started to get fidgety and uncomfortable. By the time forty minutes had passed, she was really starting to worry.

Tony looked at his watch. "Uh, Ziva," he murmured, "it's been almost an hour since we came in here. Think maybe it's time to call McGee and see if we can get a trace on Paul's credit card?"

Ziva did not know what it was time to do. Her instincts were telling her one thing, and the evidence, or rather, the lack of evidence of their suspect's presence was telling her something entirely different. She needed a little more time to think, which she probably didn't have, and shouldn't waste. "Yes," she said, "call McGee."

As Tony began the dial the number, Ziva got up and tried to get out some of her frustration by pacing a few times around the room. As she began to come back towards the sofa, something that sounded like the rustle of shoes outside the door stopped her in her tracks. Silently still, holding her breath, Ziva watched as a small card slid its way under the door. It came in just far enough for her to be able to bend down and reach for it, but she waited several minutes before doing so. "Tony?" she asked, and the urgency of her tone got him out of his seat and off of the phone.

Together, the two of them crossed over to the door, and Tony trained his gun on it, as Ziva carefully picked up the card. For a couple of seconds, both agents waited, half expecting someone to walk into the room. Nothing happened. Glancing down at her treasure, Ziva saw that it was the key card to another hotel room, room number 612.

"What's this all about?" asked Tony, slowly lowering the gun. Ziva shrugged. Plucking the card out of her fingers, Tony reached to open the door. "Well," he said, "I guess you were right. If this is what we've been sitting here waiting for, let's not waste any time using it. Besides, I need some action; I'm getting a cramp in my lower back. You coming?"

***

Tony and Ziva weren't the only ones on the edge of their seats. As they prepared to bust into room 612, Abby prepared to bust out with a secret, one that she hoped would help to smooth over some of the problems that she'd inadvertently created in Gibbs' life.

For the last few minutes, which had dragged themselves out intolerably, Gibbs had been sitting on his hospital cot and glaring at the floor. It was though he'd entirely forgotten that Abby was even there, so lost in some unpleasant reflections of his own that her presence had escaped his fixated notice. His preoccupation had given Abby plenty of time to stress herself out about things that she had said, ways that Gibbs' had looked and acted, and, perhaps most importantly, her growing suspicion that Jackson's visit had been prompted by the questions which she'd plagued him with the night before.

Abby knew that if she asked him, Gibbs would deny being concerned about his father, or would maybe just refuse to talk about the episode at all. Left to his own devices, he'd brood over the matter until it got worse and worse, taking on proportions 'that would be far too intense for Abby to interfere with. If she did have something to do with Jackson's and Gibbs' fight, she had only one real chance to make amends before things got out of hand, and if she hadn't had anything to do with it, she'd at least have gotten the issue off her chest and out into the open. It was, after all, better to be safe than sorry, she reflected, even if being safe did mean informing her lover/boss that she'd engaged in an intrusively personal faux-pas.

"It's my fault, Gibbs," Abby began.

Gibbs shook his head impatiently at her. "No it's not," he insisted. "They would have been there, waiting for me outside whether or not you'd come over. It was only a matter of time and a question of who they'd pick off first."

"No, not the shooting." Abby was having a hard time getting the words out, but she was a woman who was careful to finish whatever she began, and was hoping that, any minute now, the confession would start to feel good. "I mean, Jack's…questions. He did ask you questions, didn't he?"

Gibbs gave Abby his attention for the first time in maybe a half an hour. She couldn't help wishing that she'd gotten it in a different, more flattering way. "About…about your wives?" she insisted doggedly. "He did ask you about being married, and stuff, didn't he?"

For some reason, Gibbs didn't get angry. He looked genuinely surprised for a moment, and then nodded slowly, frowning at her in a thoughtful, comprehending sort of way. "Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, I should have figured that's why he'd want to know, all of a sudden."

Abby began trying to think of a way to explain to him why she'd asked. She could only come up with so many excuses, none of which seemed particularly innocent or appropriate under the circumstances. She could always say that it had been a joke, that she'd made some crack about his record with marriages, and that it had made Jackson curious. Still, telling him it had been a joke wouldn't make it entirely clear that Jackson Gibbs hadn't been in the wrong, and that was the key thing, the most important part. She had to make Gibbs understand that his father hadn't been trying to pry into his life, but that he'd been helping Abby out, worrying about making her feel better. Jack's motives had to be the good ones, even it made Abby look like a clingy stalker.

"It's like this," she began, opening her mouth to tell him that she'd been tired and frustrated, and had asked Jack some leading questions that she had taken the time to come to regret. Before she had a chance, however, Abby noticed that the anger had all drained out of Gibbs' face, and that he was looking at her with some combination of resignation and appreciation.

"Um," stammered Abby.

"It's okay," Gibbs said with a shrug, " You've got a right to know whatever you want to know. Should have all the information before you start something like this."

Abby stared at him. "But what," she asked, almost whispering, "are we starting, exactly?"

Suddenly, her phone began to ring.

She considered just not answering it, afraid that this opportunity for the conversation she'd been dying to have would never come again. Still, even in the throes of romantic possibility, Abby was, first and foremost, an excellent member of a crime fighting team. Hitting the send button, she held the phone to her ear. "What's up, Tony?"

"We've got him," shouted Tony excitedly, forcing Abby to hold the phone a little farther away from her ear. "It was the concierge! We caught him trying to send a message to our guy Paul. Ziva and I are on our way back to NCIS with him now, we'll see you there."

"Abby?" Gibbs put a hand on her shoulder. "What's he saying?"

"Oh!" Abby held the phone up to Gibbs' ear, saying as she did so, "Tony's got him! He and Ziva are bringing him in right now. Sounds like there were two of them in it, I didn't totally get what-!"

"DiNozzo?" barked Gibbs into the phone. Abby didn't hear Tony's reply. "Yeah," said Gibbs after a moment, "and then send Ziva and McGee over to report. Oh? Okay. But Ziva too."

Gibbs hung up the phone, and Abby accepted it back from him, asking "Well? What's up?"

Gibbs nodded, letting out a long, harsh breath. "They got him," he said shortly. "Ziva and Ducky are going to come over to the hospital to fill me in." He said the last three words almost distastefully, as if having to be filled in by his subordinates was particularly unappetizing. "Go back to the lab and sit in for instructions. Tony might have something for you, he'll need you. I'm counting on you, Abs."

Abby felt the moment of connection between her and Gibbs slipping away from her yet again, in the face of this new professional development. Seeing her frustration, Gibbs leaned down and placed a kiss behind her ear. "When this is done," he assured her, "you'll be able to ask me anything you like. We'll have that dinner you were planning."

"And…the candles?" murmured Abby mischievously. Gibbs' slow, small smile made her face suddenly start to feel hot.

"We'll see," he said.


	9. Submission

**Chapter Nine – Submission**

Anti-climactic was hardly the word for it. When Abby got to NCIS, Tony and Ziva had the situation solidly under control.

"It was crazy," Tony told Abby, while they watched Ziva quietly menacing the man who had once been a hotel concierge, and was now a prime murder suspect. "We'd been sitting in that room an hour, just long enough for my butt to start to ache for being in one position too long, when this hotel room card slips under the door, and we hear these footsteps running off in the opposite direction, so Ziva jumps up and runs off out the door, after them."

Abby nodded at the appropriate intervals, but she wasn't listening. It was unprofessional, sure, but she just didn't have the focus. Gibbs had said that he was counting on her, that he needed her to pay attention, to be his eyes and ears on this case when he couldn't be there himself. Still, Gibbs eyes and ears, as well as his face, his mouth, his hands, and the way he'd smiled at her were too close to the forefront of Abby's imagination to allow her to pay attention to anything else.

"Classic Ziva David," Tony finished, still excited and a little breathless from the re-living of his adventures. "That woman's got instincts that mere human beings could never even begin to understand. She's like a demon, or an android, or one of those super heroines with the amazing bodies but the cold, hard bitch kinda souls."

"Yeah, she's pretty great," muttered Abby. "I mean, really great. Like a…well oiled machine, our Ziva. Hey, listen, when do you think she'll be done in there? Gibbs wants me to call him when we have a confession." Tony looked at her oddly for a few minutes, like he was trying to read something in her face, but couldn't quite make it out. It made Abby uncomfortable, and she stood up suddenly. "Maybe I'll go call him now, and let him know-!"

"Abby." Tony cut her off. "Gibbs is going to be fine, right?"

"What?" Abby nodded. "Of course. He's doing fine, they're going to discharge him in a couple days, why?"

"Cause you're freaking me out, that's why." Shrugging, Tony added, "You haven't heard a single thing I've said this whole time. You just came from the hospital, right? So I assumed that-!"

"Oh, right…of course you did. No, Gibbs is okay. He's more than okay."

"And what about you, huh?" Tony was being sympathetic now, and sympathetic Tony was just a little bit sickening to see. He did that thing where he crinkled up his face, tried too hard to look like the caring man that Abby knew he was deep inside, but that he was far from used to exhibiting in public. Overdone compassion looked unnatural on him, when a simple glance between friends would have done just fine. "Are you okay?"

Abby opened her mouth to say that since Gibbs had started to recover, she had been doing better everyday. She wasn't just fine, she was great, and she was ready to take on whatever was coming. Distracted as she was by trying to imagine a future conversation with the man who'd promised to answer all of her questions, Abby bit her lip, and the words never got out.

***

"Gibbs." Abby strode into the hospital room, purposefully, like a woman who knew what she wanted and had made up her mind, which was far from how she felt.

Gibbs sat up straight on his bed as soon as he heard her footsteps. "Well?" he asked. "You never called."

"You know," murmured Abby, "I wish that we said things like that to each other."

Raising an eyebrow at her, Gibbs let himself settle back a little bit against the wall behind the cot, apparently recognizing that he was in for more than a few words. "Things like what?"

"Like, you giving me a hard time about never calling, or me telling you that I wish you wouldn't snore, or that you always fall asleep right after…you know." She blushed a little, but kept moving doggedly on towards her point before Gibbs could stop her. "The things that normal couples argue about. I want you to tell me that I never let you choose the movie when we're home alone, or that you don't like my favorite skirt…actually, not that last one, cause if you start telling me how to dress it's gonna get unhealthy, and I hate unhealthy, like those abusive relationships you always hear about in after-school specials…but you know what I mean!"

Gibbs blank face said clearly that he did not at all know what Abby meant.

"I mean," she insisted, "that I want us to have the fights that normal couples have, and to treat each other like real, ordinary people. We aren't ordinary people, but so far we've fought about me getting in the way of your job, and you getting in the way of a bullet, and father-figure angst, which is really creepy when you think too hard about it…and your dad, and your ex-wives-!"

"Those last two," murmured Gibbs, "are pretty normal."

"Okay," said Abby, "okay, but I want more of that. More things that you see on sitcoms, and soap operas, more things that feel _real._"

Gibbs chuckled. Abby stared at him, feeling the anger starting to rise in the back of her throat. "You're laughing at me," she accused him. "You're-!"

"I'm laughing," said Gibbs, in the quiet, placating way that she'd gotten used to around the lab, "at the idea that you think sitcoms and soap operas are more real than you and I."

Abby stared at him for a moment, watching how his eyes stayed fixed on hers as he waited to see what she'd spring on him next. His patient complacence made her both furious and relieved at the same time, both angry that he didn't seem to be taking her seriously, and delighted hat he was genuinely taking the time to listen. Throwing up her hands at last, she muttered, "Maybe I've got it wrong, then. Maybe you and I just feels too much like a soap opera after all."

"I want to take you to Mexico," said Gibbs.

"Yeah." Abby sighed. "That'd be nice, someday. You could show me all of those places that you were going to spend time in when you retired. Maybe I'd learn a little bit about what you're like when you're off duty. Don't think I've ever really seen you "off duty." I wonder if I'd like it."

"No," pressed Gibbs gently, "I want to take you to Mexico now. Or, soon. Wednesday. When I'm discharged."

Abby's eyes widened. "Oh," she said.

"You and I," continued Gibbs, "will get a few days leave, next week, and we'll go back with Mike and his family. I can't promise I'll be a different man when I'm off duty, and I can't promise that I'll fight with you about the movies, or that I'll be awake enough to argue about falling asleep after we make love, but I do like your skirts, and I probably do snore, and I promise," he said, carefully laying emphasis on the word, "that we're going to talk, and that you can ask me."

"Ask you what?" whispered Abby.

Gibbs shrugged. "Whatever you want to know."

As Abby tried to imagine going to Mexico with Gibbs, she did her best not to imagine a magical couple's vacation, complete with long walks on the beach and gazing and sunsets. Being with Gibbs was never going to be like that, and Abby had already decided that she didn't need the typical, expected romantic activities in order to make her happy. It would relieve her mind immensely to know the answers, even if they resulted in her finding out that he really never could love her as much as she hoped he eventually would. The waiting, the not knowing, the speculating was the awful part. She liked to think that she could live with answers.

She might even be able to get used to the mustache…assuming that the Mexican air prompted him to want to grow it back.

"I-!" Abby started to say.

"But, Abby," Gibbs interrupted her, serious-faced and stern, "may I please, now, have your report on what happened with Tony and Ziva?"

**Author's Note: **You aren't going to believe this, but my computer died. I swear.

So, while you're waiting for me to salvage the outline for the next installment in this fic arc from my kaput computer, why don't you go and check out **Surfeit**, the Ducky-centric story that I'm working on. You'll find it linked on my profile, and if you like my psychological writing and my angsty romances, you'll love this.

As for this Abby/Gibbs story arc, it will be back very soon (read: maybe in a week or so?) with a new fic involving Gibbs and Abby's trip to Mexico, legitimate romantic interaction and a much-needed break from the real world for our protagonists. If you're looking for reconciliation between the two of them, and some good sexy fun, it is only a few chapters around the corner, you are almost there.

I need a break from the real world myself…

I do hope you keep reading!

My regards,

Vivian


End file.
